Lunch Money
by Monty Twain
Summary: Watson is broke and his new friend lends him money for lunch. Fluffiness ensues. Set during STUD, before Watson works out what Holmes does for a living.


Holmes and I had shared a cab for the second time that week, and I was painfully aware that I was running low on the change in my pocket. I had spent a night playing cards at a club I had dropped in to, initially to see a friend of mine that I had ended up staying in with because of rain, quenched my thirst, and had made a few more "friends", who had promptly beaten me. Embarrassed at the thought of asking Holmes to lend some, especially as I had no idea what he did for a living and therefore earned, As we passed Regent's Park, I quietly informed Holmes I was to go for an appointment to see an old army friend.

Holmes asked if we could meet up later in the day for lunch, and I told him it wasn't possible, and that I would see him later at Baker Street.

Holmes looked at me and frowned slightly, but agreed. As we were nearing West Kensington, around Shepherd's Bush, and my destination, Holmes cleared his throat. I looked up.

"Doctor, will you eat today?" I stared slightly. This seemed, from what I knew of him, a distinctly un-Holmes-like question. For a start, the man didn't seem to eat at all, as if simply being in the presence of food replenished his need, so why should he worry about my appetite? The second thought was that Holmes didn't seem to be the sort of person to worry about anybody's appetite at all.

"Why?"

"It's just that I don't have much faith in this fictional army friend of yours will pay for your meal."

I was startled. Aside from the initial knowledge of my friend not being altogether existent, it was a quite personal thing for him to say about my finances, no matter how true.

"Holmes, I have to get off."

"Well, take a guinea for provisions."

"Holmes-"

"Humour me, Watson. You can pay me back later. If your assets are taking somewhat of a dip before the weekly cheque comes in, then I can't have you starve waiting for it." He hadn't ever used anything but my prefix to address me before. His smile was assuring, and I took the money from him.

"I shall pay you back today, Holmes."

God knows how.

I had been around and done a few errands which I shan't hassle my dear reader with, which took around an hour, and when it came to lunch, I had still had no idea how I would pay Holmes back. Of course, I wasn't on the scale of being entirely bankrupt, but all the things I thought to be vital to my enjoyment of life cost rather more than I had expected. I found myself standing in a café for a few minutes before deciding on a plan of action.

"Hello, Doctor!"

"Hello, Holmes. How was your day?"

"It went very well, thank you." I briefly wondered what had gone well, but I didn't ask.

"Oh, here's your money."

"Oh, so it is." He sounded almost disappointed- this seemed an odd choice of words. I stared down it as if it had offended him, and put it in his hand.

"Holmes?"

"This is indeed the money I gave you."

"Yes, it's the right amount."

"No, I mean it is the money I gave you. You didn't spend it." He examined his palm intently.

"How did you-"

"I knew you would do it before I gave it to you."

"I beg your pardon? _I_ didn't know."

"Well, you see, I marked the date, there, with the side of the coach, before I handed it to you." He showed me a scratch in the copper work. "I was convinced you were too much of a good man to spend money you knew you couldn't give back immediately, but I didn't know how insolvent you were. It was a kind-hearted experiment."

"I suppose that is rather brilliant of you, Holmes, but-"

"I'm sorry, I'm a terrible meddler. But you know it was completely ridiculous of you to borrow money and not spend it."

"It was a bad idea to lend it in the first place."

"Preposterous. When else would you lend money but when times are a little tried? I am living with you- if you were to starve, I would have to pay twice rent. Financially, I wouldn't gain anything. "

"Well I don't think-"he interrupted me for the second time.

"Talking of starvation, we should go home and get an early dinner. I beg your pardon, Watson; I believe I cut across you. What were you about to say?" I had been about to say that it was out of place for a gentleman to be in debt, but I didn't think it would wash with my companion. He looked at me, smiling at my hesitation. He must have known what I was going to say. His eyes levelled with mine.

"Nothing as important as dinner." I said, and we started back up the steps to our new home of Baker Street.


End file.
